A Japanese Bile oJ Fovev Al lIe BvilisI Museun

AulIov|s) Bvian Moevan

Bevieved vovI|s)
Souvce AnlIvopoIog Toda, VoI. 5, No. 5 |Ocl., 1989), pp. 3-4
FuIIisIed I Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland
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A Japanese rite of power
at the British Museum
BRIAN
MOERAN
The author is professor of
Japanese Studies in the
University of London,
based at the School of
Oriental and African
Studies.
People will do anything for money. Or so it is said.
Certainly, money seldom comes free, being given in ex-
change-usually for services rendered or an article
sold. But in most commodity transactions of this kind
money is handed over as a result of an agreement made
between 'payer' and 'payee'. Money thus signifies that
a contract has been made; it honours the sign.
Those who have money have power-a power which
is in theory erased by the completion of the transaction,
when payer and payee revert to equal terms. Not
surprisingly, therefore, some people like to display this
power before investing it in its material signifier. Who
cannot recall scenes in films, on television, or even-a
rarity these days-in books, between pompous cus-
tomer and obsequious salesman, or arrogant lord and
fawning servant (whose roles are on occasion wickedly
reversed, as in Losey's The Servant or John Cleese's
celebrated portrayal of a hotelier in Fawlty Towers)?
The 'payee' plays to the whims of the payer, adopting
all the stylized gestures characteristic of a rite of power.
However, the fact that financial transactions actually
rarely result in the kind of 'egalitarianism' that
proponents of British-style democracy might like to en-
visage, occasionally leads to bizarre displays of the
power of money. Thus was the case when the British
Museum launched its appeal for ?4 million in order to
build a new gallery for its Japanese collection. Once
plans had been drawn up, it-or its Japanese back-
ersI-decided to hold a kikoshiki, or 'ground breaking
ceremony', to celebrate the construction of this gallery
(on the roof above the present North Entrance), and to
which a carefully selected group of 'Japanophiles'-in-
cluding a sprinkling of academics-was invited.
Upon arrival at the North Entrance, all invitees were
relieved of their hats, coats, bags and umbrellas, before
being ushered by a uniformed guard to the lift and
taken to the first floor. There they were greeted per-
sonally by the Museum's Director and Chairman of the
Board of Trustees. Those who were recognized
received warm welcomes, even affectionate kisses
(though of the public kind). Others, lesser lights in the
puzzled museum world, were subjected to hard stares
and firm handshakes-before being guided through one
gallery to another where the ceremony was to be held.
As we entered this gallery, we were quickly sifted
into 'greater' and 'lesser' plenipotentiaries attendant at
this rite. The distinguished (including, of course, the
Japanese Ambassador) were obliged to have their hands
purified with water poured from a bamboo ladle by a
kimonoed Japanese girl, before being ushered to their
places along two rows of chairs. The rest of us were
permitted to stand in our 'defiled' state at the back of
the gallery, and found ourselves facing a hurriedly
erected Shinto shrine, complete with altar (loaded with
offerings of fruit, sea bream (brought from Japan), two
sake bottles, rice cakes, dried squid and seaweed), con-
gratulatory red and white palls, four bamboo plants, cut
paper strips and a purple baldachin.
Onto this 'stage' came the Shinto priest (kenmushi)
who bowed both to the altar and to us. An announcer,
strategically positioned just 'off stage' where members
of the Press were gathered, informed us that we would
first witness the purification of the Holy Articles and of
all those attending. We were then subjected to a series
of instructions in both Japanese and English: 'Go-kirit-
su. Please stand... Go-teito. Please bow the head until
the prayer is over... O-naori kudasai. The prayer is
over... Go-chakuseki kudasai. Please sit.' Obediently,
we all bowed our beads, while those who were sitting
stood up and sat down after the priest had waved his
paper fronded wand in the air two or three times.
The purification of the site over, we advanced to the
second stage of the rite. 'Goshin nori. The priest will
ask the Gods to descend to this site... Go-kiritsu. Please
stand... Go-teito. Please bow the head... O-naori
kudasai... Go-chakuseki kudasai.' This time two hand-
claps, accompanied by a sudden storm of flashes from
the pressmen's cameras, before the same series of com-
mands was issued for the tensen no gi, offering of food
and drink to the Gods, and the norito sojo, recitation of
a Shinto prayer. By the time the two rows of distin-
guished guests had found themselves standing, sitting,
standing and sitting four times in as many minutes, we
lesser mortals were grateful for the gallery wall against
which we could rest our backs and shift from time to
time the weight on our legs.
There was another clap and the priest did something
in front of the altar before bowing, taking a step back-
wards, bowing again and making off to the left of the
stage where the announcer stood by his microphone.
'Shiho barai. Now the priest will be purifying the
ground of the construction site'. All stood for the
central stages of the rite, during which the priest
opened up some carefully folded paper and, taking
what appeared to be no more than white confetti,
sprinkled it three times to the front right of the shrine
and three times to the back. Bowing to the altar with its
offerings of food and wine, he then sprinkled more con-
fetti over it, before performing the same task at the
back left, front left and centre of the shrine. Once more
he bowed.
We were then led by the announcer's sombre voice
into the kuwai no gi, the ground breaking ceremony,
and it was at this point that three of the distinguished
guests were obliged to participate more actively in the
proceedings. The Chairman of the architects responsible
for the new gallery's design was invited to perform a
few gestures with a wooden sickle. Then the Chairman
of the British Museum's Board of Trustees was given a
wooden hoe with which he touched three neat piles of
earth placed on the floor. Finally, the Chairman of the
construction company contracted to carry out the build-
ing of the new gallery did more or less the same thing
with a wooden spade handed him by the priest. Each
did so with splendid gravity and truly British aplomb.
'Now the Gods will be offered sacred branches', we
were informed, and the priest again clapped his hands
twice ('just in case people's attention has wandered',
whispered an irreverent guest next to me). Once more,
those representatives of institutions directly connected
with the project-the Chairman of the Board of Trus-
tees and Director of the British Museum, the Managing
1. It is hard to tell
precisely who was
responsible for the rite
here described, which
took place on a
mid-December evening
in 1987; hard, too, to
judge just how similar
the rite was to others
held in Japan itself.
From my own
experience in rural
Japan, I can say that
the basic elements
were the same, but that
the hand washing
element was
new-probably based
on normal custom for
those visiting a Shinto
shrine.
ANTHROPOLOGY TODAY Vol 5 No 5, October 1989 3
Director of the construction company, the Chairman of
the architect's firm, even His Excellency the Japanese
Ambassador-found themselves offering laurel sprigs
to the Shinto altar. Each bowed once, stepped forward
to the altar on which he placed his allotted sprig, bowed
twice, took a step back and gave two solemn hand
claps, before returning to his seat.
Next we were informed that the priest would clear
the altar of its offerings, before asking the Gods
reverently to return to heaven. 'Go-kiritsu... Go-teito'.
The priest uttered what sounded like a werewolf howl
in the winter's night and those who had stood were in-
vited to reseat themselves, as the priest gave two final
claps, two bows and moved off stage once more.
Not that he had quite finished his duties. 'We would
now like to drink a toast', intoned the announcer.
'We're now going to have the sacred wine. Please
stand... We'd now like to ask the Chief Priest to partake
of the wine... We've now happily concluded the British
Museum gallery's ground breaking ceremony. Con-
gratulations.'
'O-medeto gozaimasu. Congratulations.' For the first
time, the priest broke his silence, and all the greater
plenipotentiaries at the front of the gallery murmured
'congratulations'. This was followed by shakuhachi
music and a few drum beats, as the announcer handed
over proceedings to the Director of the British Museum
who himself introduced the Japanese Ambassador to
those assembled.
It was at this point that the underlying reason for
seven or eight dozen English people's participating in a
strange Shinto rite conducted in, of all places,
Bloomsbury became clear. This clapping of hands and
waving of fronds, this throwing of confetti and simu-
lated gardening, these stages of silence broken by
voiced commands and the screeching of chairs as well-
groomed men stood and sat-all were performed for
the single purpose of gaining money. His Excellency
the Ambassador spoke in halting English about the
promotion of cultural relations between our two
countries, England and Japan. These and other
platitudes served to prolong the agony of the power-
less-an agony made the more painful by his halting
English-but, finally, he presented the Chairman of the
Board of Trustees with a cheque from the Japanese
Government. All that sitting and standing, stylized
movement and breath-held silence had been repaid by
ten million yen.
The Ambassador's presentation was greeted with
relieved applause. Finally, the power game had come to
an end. The British could revert to their civilized, the
Japanese to their formally humble, selves. 'That
concludes', said Lord Windlesham, 'what has been a
remarkable occasion in the history of the British
Museum, a unique occasion'. Remarkable in the sense
that a museum which had thrived by plundering the
treasures of imperialized lands now found itself obliged
to adopt an attitude of humility. That this humility was
already yielding to customary views of the Japanese as
a quaint people with somewhat odd customs could be
sensed in the Chairman of the Board of Trustees' final
words, and the applause with which his words were
received: 'I would like to thank everyone present for
the quiet and respect they have shown on this
occasion'.
Is there a moral to this particular rite of power? Per-
haps it is the admission that, yes, the Japanese may
have money; they may even have art. But that art, of
course, is in the British Museum. The British can thus
reassure themselves that, although they may no longer
have wealth, they have at least civilization. Like God,
Britannia moves in a mysterious way.
Coca eradication
A remedy for independence? with a Postscript
A.L.
SPEDDING
The author didfieldwork
in Bolivia between 1986
and 1988 and r-eceived
her PhD in anthropology
from the London School
of Economics in 1989.
She works as a freelance
writer, novelist and
researcher, and is
returning to Bolivia to
work there.
...Tratar de quitar la coca es querer que no haya Peru...es,
finalmente, imaginacion de hombres que por sus intereses,
pensando que hacen algo, destruyen la tierra sin la en-
tender.
...To try to get rid of coca is to wish that there be no
Peru.. it is, finally, the dream of men who for their inter-
ests, thinking they are doing something, destroy the earth
without understanding it.
Juan de Matienzo (1567) Gobierno del Peru
If development is something which occurs in program-
mes funded by aid, there is not much development in
Bolivia. The region of Bolivia I am concerned with is
Sud Yungas, a section of the eastern slopes of the
Andes, with a subtropical climate and an economy
based on the cultivation of coca by Aymara peasant
farmers. By local standards, it is a long way from being
a backward area; since the price of coca began to rise
in the 1970s, branch roads have been constructed into
most districts, there is considerable commercial activity,
many communities have piped water supplied to all
houses except those next to springs, and some have
even installed a domestic electricity supply, tapping
into the network carrying hydroelelectricity from a dis-
tant dam. All this has been achieved through self-help
and community labour projects, organized by the
peasants themselves, and using the windfall profits of
the great coca boom which ran from about 1970 and
took off between 1980 and 1986. The only programme
funding economic development, as opposed to medical
aid, is the UN's Agroyungas project. Its aim is develop-
ment through crop substitution, which is a euphemism
for coca eradication. Yet the properties of coca make it
a development economist's dream. So why does it have
to be eradicated and replaced by coffee for the export
market?
Coca is a woody, slow-growing shrub, with a strag-
gling habit of growth and a maximum height of about
1.50m. The part of the bush which is harvested is its
leaves, borne in pairs, bright green, resembling
bayleaves but smaller and thinner. If they are not
stripped off the bush, after three or four months they
turn brown and fall off, to be replaced by a new crop.
In practice the leaves are harvested before they turn
brown, dried in the sun, and packed into sacks for
transport and sale. Many adults in Bolivia consume
coca, as an infusion or by 'chewing' it. In fact the
leaves are not chewed, but placed in the side of the
mouth between gum and cheek, with a small quantity
4 ANTHROPOLOGY TODAY Vol 5 No 5, October 1989